Technicolour
by GloriaNewt
Summary: Paloma Faith songfic: Lamplighter/HB Constance's world is turned upside down after her encounter with Lynne Lamplighter...


**Authors Note:**** I suddenly came across this beautiful little song by Paloma Faith when listening to other tracks for my album fic series. It isn't on the album, but I urge you to listen to it as it is just perfect, and the lyrics just lend themselves to being a Lamplighter/HB fic- so I must just say that there is implied femslash and mild femslash within this little story, so if things like that offend you, I suggest you stop reading now!**

**Please review and make my day!**

**xxx**

**Once upon a time my friends it feels like yesterday**

**I was living lonesome in a world of disarray**

**Everything was black and white, there wasn't even grey**

**And every morning waking up on Groundhog Day**

Constance Hardbroom bit unconsciously upon her thin, dark lip, worrying the fragile skin as she sat in front of her dressing table mirror, her famous ebony hair unleashed from its customary restrictive bun and cascading over her narrow shoulders in thick, glossy curls, the dark mane combed and brushed to perfection with the Victorian silver hairbrush, a back-breaking task but she had opted to avoid using her magic, anything to keep her flustered mind occupied, the crawling squirm of anxiety at bay from twisting her delicate stomach into knots like an emotional cat's cradle. "Tonight is an important night," she reminded herself firmly, "the start to the rest of my life…" she smiled to herself as she selected her usual musky perfume, placing a faint dab behind each ear, before attempting to steady her shaking hand enough to apply a dark sheen of lipstick to her chapped lips, the broken skin healing itself magically as the soothing balm of herbs contained within the cosmetic, an ingenious concoction of her own intelligent design, began to tend to the minor wounds inflicted by her unfortunate habit.

For the first time in recent memory, she was voluntarily leaving the sanctuary of the academy, taking advantage of an evening devoid of detention overseeing, dinner duty and lights out, venturing tentatively into the nearby village, accepting the invitation of the breathtaking artist, the woman who had changed everything in a few short days, breaking into her strict routine of duty and academia and infusing it with her dynamic spirit, her infectious love of life gently prising open the deputy head's firmly blinkered eyes to an exciting world of colour, emotion, drama, and- dare she admit it… love.

**It was all in monochrome, without the light,**

**Just like a silver screen you walked into my life**

**You taught the stars to light up what was dark**

It had all happened in a few, heart-stopping moments.

"Where's the heart? Where's the personal touch? She questioned gently, her head tilting to one side as she surveyed the precise, yet heartless work in front of her.

"If you want to make it live on the page, you have to give it some life, some of your own life" she touched Constance on the shoulder lightly.

"Here, let me show you…" she breathed, her breath tickling the exposed skin around the back Constance's swan-like neck, the porcelain skin erupting into a sea of goosebumps, the tall woman shivering faintly as the artist leant closer into her, reaching around Constance's rigid form, directing from over her bony shoulder, carefully placing her warm hand over the freezing fingers and beginning to guide the pencil in a magical dance across the blank page, a myriad of strokes, sketches, miniscule pauses for breath before turning on their heels and starting again, a tango of emotions, the two hands intertwined on the dance floor of creativity, a mutual expression in graphite, a fight for control over the drawing implement, a sensual dance of submission and pursuit between the two interlinked hands, an elegant masquerade that finally came to an end upon the perfect cadence of the completion of the initial sketch. Both looked down in a quiet wonder at the page before their eyes met, amber on hazel as they stared, neither wanting to be the one to break the contact.

**I found the light saturated in your charm**

**We kiss the sky and dance across rainbows**

**Now it's all in technicolour with you**

"Yes," she whispered faintly, unable to look away from the captivating woman in those dreadful, ostentatious "psychedelic slacks".

"I see," she was struggling to formulate a simple sentence now, her previously ordered mind suddenly chaotic, as if one of Lynne's intangible pieces had replaced the impeccable yen for order and method, distorting her usually crystal clear senses in a chaotic haze of abstract, neon colours, her beloved control and organisation long since lost in the sudden wave of desire that was paralysing her from the eyes down.

"I," she began helplessly, the confident orator tongue-tied and stumbling, blushing in the awkward nature of their exchange, a pinkish hue appearing upon the usually ashen features, a rare glow of warmth present in the melting hazel eyes, praying that the goddess that she was surveying, the glorious work of art that was the beautifully abstract Lynne Lamplighter, her mind desperately imploring the young woman not to move away from the dreaded, bitter Ice maiden who had so far been as hostile as politeness allowed.

"I," she tried again, stammering as the heavenly features came ever closer, neither knowing who was moving towards whom, unblinking as they swam in each other's eyes.

"Art is all about expressing yourself, not being afraid to let go of your darkest fears and dreams and letting them take flight in front of you…" Lynne's hand brushed momentarily Constance's face as she reached forward boldly, daring to tuck an escaping wisp of hair that was lying, trembling with anxiety upon the witch's forehead behind one of the perfectly proportioned ears with an unusually gentle touch, eliciting a shudder from the older woman, not of contempt, but of burning lust that was beginning to gnaw away uncomfortably at her insides, the most beautiful of agonies as Lynne moved ever closer, pausing for a moment to unleash a devastating smile that acted as the instantaneous thaw to the icy winter blizzard that had carefully guarded the senior witch's heart for so very long.

"Because, I believe that there is a heart, hidden firmly beneath the control of that troubled mind…" whispered the artist, "a heart that is aching to be set free from its iron cage…" her hand cupped lightly under the firm chin, a decisive action that would have resulted in a near death experience for any other potential suitor, but by this point the witch was completely under her hypnotic spell, the strict authoritarian surrendering completely, leaning forward complicitly as if she were in a trance, her heart breaking into song as their lips met for the first time…

**I lived in the blackest house with seven pure white cats**

**The bleak eyed look of every day hidden deep inside my hat**

Constance shivered, drawing her thick cloak tightly around her slender form in a bid to generate some warm within her, her heeled leather boots clicking distinctively upon the grey concrete of the pavement, stepping into the orange spotlights of the dim, murky street lights, her step lacking its usual firm quality, unnerved and unsteady about the situation that she found herself in, doubt seeping agitatedly into her mind like a dye spreading slowly across a piece of linen, staining the optimism of her thoughts with a dark undercurrent of uncertainty and helplessness. Her lightly curled hair framed her face, softening the harshness of her features in comparison to her usual strict appearance, the cool evening breeze fanning the thick tresses, the sweet, earthy smell of the woodlands clinging tightly to her loosened locks.

"7, 9, 11…" she counted nervously as she walked along the little cul-de-sac, pausing at the final house.

"13, unlucky for some…" she breathed as her eyes fell upon the enchanting little cottage, a rose-trellis snaking around the low doorway, a thatch roof topping the fairytale building with its white-washed walls, the window sills and door painted in dark green, a picture-book place of dreams.

Holding her breath, she raised a trembling hand and knocked, determined to banish the dark cloud of qualms and reservations from her mind.

"Come in, it's open!" the familiar voice rang out from within.

**The notes on the piano now remind me of my past**

**And now you're here right by my side, I hope that we will last**

The delicate sound of music wafted through the night air as Constance stood transfixed in the threshold of the doorway, a familiar melody playing upon the impressive grand piano that dwarfed the tiny room as she watched the amateur musician at work. Lynne sat with her back to her, her posture supple and free as she leant forward, lost in the music that she was creating, delicate fingers brushing the ivory keys in an ethereal dance, guided by emotion rather than memory as the bare music stand laid testament to, her sweet voice ringing out clear and true, the tender lyrics of a familiar ballad passing from between her lips, the message from her heart as Constance crept forward, taking a deep breath and casting any inhibitions aside as she stood silently behind the young woman, reaching comfortably around her slender frame from her impressive height and supplying the additional chords to the exquisite, haunting melody, her rich contralto falling into a soft harmony as she nestled against Lynne's creamy cheek, further greetings an unnecessary addition as her fluttering heart leapt once more at the feel of the powdery, warm skin, inhaling the intoxicating scent of summery flowers and white musk, the characteristic edge of white spirit nudging faintly into the edge of the delicious aroma.

**It was all in monochrome, without the light,**

**Just like a silver screen you walked into my life**

**You taught the stars to light up what was dark**

**I found the light saturated in your charm**

The song ended and Lynne turned around slowly upon the velvet piano stool, captive beneath Constance's arms as she reached forward, running inquisitive hands through the loosened hair with the interested critique of a sculptor, an observation of human perfection.

"Stunning…" she breathed her approval hoarsely, her eyes glinting with unashamed desire as she placed a gentle kiss of welcome upon the very tip of Constance's nose.

"You should wear your hair down more often…" she flirted lightly as she stood up, taking Constance by the hand, and leading her towards the rear of the cottage, the witch visibly relaxing beneath the caring touch.

"Come on, I've got something to show you…"

**We kiss the sky and dance across rainbows**

**Now it's all in technicolour with you**

"This," she gestured proudly as they walked into easily the largest room of the house, a light, airy space, a studio tastefully incorporated into the original design, "This is my little haven, my sanctuary, my beloved studio…"

**Yellow, orange, pink, green and blue**

**Let's paint the town, darling us two**

Constance stared around in awe, canvases, complete and unfinished littered the surfaces, a riotous display of colour and shapes, confusing yet intoxicating in its technicolor mystery, illogical yet compelling to her curiosity, the world represented in bizarre shades and textures, distorted, skewed as far away from reality as the axis of normality would allow, but equally fascinating in its surreal, psychedelic nature, a bright, vibrant, hallucinogenic representation of the world, glorious in its inexplicable lunacy.

**You bring your pallet and I will sing the sub bar**

**We're just two birds of a feather**

"It's perfect…" she whispered, entranced by the visual overload that swept over her from every angle, her hand closing tighter upon Lynne's as she spun around in delight, turning upon her heel like a child in her unsuppressed glee at the fabulous vibrancy of her surroundings. Lynne closed her other hand over Constance's in a moment of improvised joy, the heady mix of art and growing love for the gorgeous specimen in front of her overwhelming her unashamedly as they whirled around in a giggling spiral of abandoned, delirious elation , two lovers in their own private utopia.

All Constance could see was Lynne's grinning face set against a glowing blur of colours, her old inhibitions being shed from her like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, casting aside the dull coat of fear and loneliness and embracing the alien feeling of total love that was brimming within her freed heart that was soaring above in the starry skies.

**You taught the stars to light up what was dark**

**I found the light saturated in your charm**

**We kiss the sky and dance across rainbows**

**Now it's all in technicolour with you**

It was all about her. Lynne. Lynne Lamplighter. The new centre to her existence.

**Now it's all in technicolour with you**

"My little light in the darkness..." she chuckled softly to herself as she leant forward to embrace the woman who, in the space of a few wondrous days had turned her gloomy world upon its head.


End file.
